


Trouble Seeps Through

by voleuse



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-09
Updated: 2004-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>No one can live without this endless motion.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble Seeps Through

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the "Destiny" flashbacks. Title, summary, and headings taken from Pablo Neruda's _Sonnet LV_.

_i. thorns, shattered glass_

Drusilla and Angelus have been gone a night and a day already, and the bodies are starting to smell. It doesn't bother William the way it would have had he been human, but it is a little irritating, nonetheless.

He's not inclined to dispose of the bodies himself, first out of spite, and second because he's not sure what to do with them. Still, something must be done, and William is about to start piling up the corpses when a golden-haired lady in an expensive gown appears in the doorway.

"You look familiar." She doesn't look particularly happy, despite the smile that graces her lips. "Why?"

He introduces himself, and she laughs.

"Dru's new toy. Of course."

He thinks he should be insulted.

_ii. attack the honied contentment_

William explains their absence with a stammer and evades her questions, until finally she cuts through his bluster.

"You caught them fucking, right?"

He whirls and storms away, kicking aside bodies as he comes across them.

She follows somewhat leisurely, laughter in her voice. "It doesn't mean anything, you know."

He stops, looks at her hopefully. "Their tryst?"

"No. Yours." She draws up close. "You imagine you're destined to be together?"

He nods, captured by her eyes.

"It's only natural to feel that way for your sire." She pats him on the cheek. "You'll get over it."

_iii. nor secret passageways_

"It's not true," he responds, and pulls away from her, slamming through a doorway. And realizes where he is.

He stares at the bed for a long minute before she finally speaks.

"You found them here, didn't you?"

"You're Darla, aren't you?" He can't look away from it. "How can you be so calm, knowing Angelus betrayed you so?"

"Betrayal is much more complicated than cuckolding, William." She walks in front of him, breaking the endless loop in his head. She sits on the bed, draws her knees up. "Was it like this? Did he take her this way?"

"Not...quite."

She rearranges herself on the bed, spreading her legs and arching her arms. "Better?"

_iv. trouble seeps through_

He shoves her Darla's skirt up, thrills at her moan. Shoves his trousers down, lunges forward and plunges inside of her. He watches her writhe on the mattress, her teeth bared and her eyes squeezed shut.

It should be Dru, he thinks with every thrust.

Should.

Be.

"Angelus," she groans, and he falls back with a start.

She seizes his shirt and pulls him back to her. "Did I say you could stop?" she snarls into his ear, and she flips their positions, lowers herself onto his cock again.

"W-why?" he stutters.

"You're not him," she seethes, "not nearly him, but you'll do."

_v. sorrow rises and falls_

He arches against her, bitter and sated, and she pins him to the bed easily. (She is, he observes, a tad stronger than he, but he won't venture to question it now.) He buries his face in her shoulder and revels in his misery, the utter wreck of his relationship with Dru, simply to taste the ecstasies of--

"Not bad at all, William," she compliments him briskly. "In a few decades, you'll actually be good at this."

"I beg your pardon," he exclaims. "Didn't you--"

"That was in _spite_, not because of, what I presume was your effort." She sits up, still joined to him, and pats him on the chest. "You'll learn."

At the shifting pressure, he begins to swell inside of her again.

She smiles. "See?"

_vi. this endless motion_

There's a splintering sound, then. They freeze, mid-rock, and try to decipher the noise.

There's a moment of silence, heavy, and then panicked shouting.

The deaths of the house's previous inhabitants has been discovered, it seems. William watches as Darla scans the room, her eyes darting from door to door to window. "There!" she whispers, leaping off him and gauging the window's height.

"Why this way?" he questions. "Why don't we just kill _them_?"

She looks back at him. "We don't know how many there are, nor what weapons they might have." She shatters the window with the flat of her hand. "It's not worth the trouble."

_vii. no birth, no roof, no fence_

A constable bursts into the room, then, and Spike takes hold of him quickly, dispatches him with a twist and a bite. "See?" he declares proudly, letting the body drop with a _thud_. "Easy as that."

Darla sneers at him, swings out the window without a word.

He curses, listens to a mass of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and runs, jumps out after her.

She's on the street already, and he dashes to catch up with her. "What now?" he asks, looking over his shoulder, hears the shouts of alarm following them.

She eyes him. "You're from this city. Where could we go?"

He stops. Looks around. "My home is nearby."

_viii. account for it_

She looks at him skeptically for a second, then shrugs. "Lead the way," she says, gesturing expansively. "But don't rush."

He nods and offers her his arm. She smiles graciously and takes his elbow, and they stroll purposefully down the boulevard.

When they arrive at his home, William stares at the dark windows. "It's still empty," he murmurs.

Darla lets go of his arm, strides forward, and kicks the door open. She steps over the threshold easily. "It seems so."

He follows her into the shell of his home, and he's surprised at how their footsteps echo. "Home sweet home."

_ix. shut in love_

She's standing by the fireplace, perfectly still, staring down at the pile of dust in front of it.

"Who was this?"

He stares at the ashes at their feet. "My mum."

She twitches, looks at him. "You turned your _mother_?"

"Yes." He folds his arms. "What of it?"

"That's..." She turns away, takes in the rest of the parlor. "Interesting."

He considers defending his decision, but remembers the inevitable result. "Yes. Well."

She runs her still-gloved hand over a table. "Why is everything still here?"

"It's only been a few days," he replies. "They might not know Mother and I are dead yet."

_x. far from the pestilent_

"Popular, were you?" She drapes herself over a chair.

"She was ill," William explains. "I was..."

He can't think of a reason, but she arches an eyebrow and chuckles. "I see." She runs an idle hand across the skirt of her dress, frowns as she discovers the fabric torn. "Would her clothes still be here?"

"Upstairs," he responds. "She should still have--"

Darla's already climbing the stairs. "I hope you had _some_ means," she calls. "I hate dressing like a beggar."

He ignores her and returns to his own room, sits on his bed with a sigh.

Everything seems smaller now. Duller.

He can't believe he never saw it before.

_xi. advances, pace by pace_

"This was your room?"

He looks up to see Darla, standing in the doorway, swathed in dark velvet. His mother's finest gown.

She steps inside, flicks her fingers against the books on his desk. "It's quaint."

"Small," he responds, leaning back on his bed.

"How pathetic you must have been," she muses, prowling forward. "Trapped in this house, with only your dying mother for companionship. You must have been so," she pushes him onto the mattress, "very chaste."

"Yes," he breathes, watches as she draws her skirts up, trails her hands between her legs. "Very."

"What nasty little things," she dips three fingers inside herself, "did you think about when you touched yourself?"

"Hard to say," he gulps. "A multitude of things."

_xii. for life throbs_

He reaches for her, intoxicated, but she shoves him down, eases over his face, swathing him in velvet and flesh. He's confused for a moment, but her movements are insistent, and he learns quickly, as she's quite vocal when pleased.

He grasps her hips to steady her bucking, plunges his tongue inside of her with more confidence. She shudders, soon enough, and he takes the opportunity to duck out from under her, press her face to the bed, toss her skirts up over her head. He rips his trousers in his haste to be rid of them, and thrusts into her from behind.

_xiii. eyes stare through_

She howls as he enters her, rolls her hips expertly.

He mutters incoherently as he fucks her, what would have been prayers, if he still believed in any god.

Now, curses rain from his lips, and any prayers he might have are addressed to Drusilla alone.

_xiv. sorrowful family_

"Isn't this a pretty picture?" William whirls to see Angelus standing in the doorway.

"How did you--"

"Drusilla can feel you, you know." He swaggers into the room, swats William on the back. "Got a bit of the touch."

"Damn you," Darla growls, still braced against the bed.

"Go ahead." Angelus smiles with indulgence. "Finish."

William begins to thrust into her again, but she bucks, pushes him away. She leaps from the bed, shoves Angelus against the wall. Kisses him angrily.

Angelus tears the dress with his careless hands, and Darla wraps her legs around his hips as they fuck against the wall.

They couple noisily, hissing obscenities like endearments, but William doesn't listen to them.

He can hear Drusilla warble downstairs, and he follows it like a siren's call.


End file.
